


This Is Fucking Ecstasy

by gerty_3000



Category: PAYDAY (Video Games)
Genre: Disassociation, Gen, emotional breakdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 01:16:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8231180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gerty_3000/pseuds/gerty_3000
Summary: The ride to the FBI headquarters was a little more traumatic than any of the crew would like to let on.





	

The way they pile up in the back of the truck, Wolf and Hoxton and this newcomer, this person wearing his old mask, his old identity, it feels vaguely like old times. Maybe because the entirety of Hazelton was just one long unending blur of isolation and solitary confinement and sneering inmates and guards and doctors alike and beatings between himself and Matt Roscoe and just too much, too much that's all been blocked out and repressed. He's free again, feeling wind on his body, the heat building up from his open-mouthed breathing against his custom mask. Lacking kevlar and guarding, it's not the greatest thing, perhaps a representation or manifestation of what he is himself, a differential from the one now angrily dubbed _Houston,_ deemed undeserving of the title but not willing to strip him of the identity. At least there was that. 

It was all such a rush. He wasn't able to participate much in the firefight, perhaps to the benefit of everyone else, all running around and screaming and suddenly here, reeking of gun powder and blood and sweat and god, he was so alive, he was back at the start. The thrill of escape! He was in the back of the getaway van, unable to hold in his giggles, riding a high of endorphins and adrenaline and a couple pain pills haphazardly distributed from the rear window once they were driving, really _driving,_ they were really going to go to the half-baked plan of storming the FBI headquarters and he was really going to hack the FBI. It felt like a dream. 

He wondered if he was actually in a dream as he felt another tittering wave wash over him, and it seemed as if seconds later that he was bent over, clutching at himself and gasping for air between hysterics, torn between braying with laughter and sobbing, short, gasping noises that left his head swimming and tears rolling down his cheeks and sticking awkwardly to the inside of his mask. Wolf was beside him, then, already close but now right next to his ear, both masks gone, worried murmurings and pet names and it's so uncomfortable, so intimate that Hoxton is sent reeling mentally and physically. He curled away from the other man, curling up in on himself, pulling his legs closer to his chest and whining at the pain in his thigh where rebar had penetrated. He can feel the eyes upon him, his pseudo-doppelganger simply staring, watching his breakdown in progress and he practically wailed in distress at the idea of being watched by someone who encapsulated everything he was. Is? Is he now truly no longer Hoxton? His entirety was consumed by this stranger, and he wondered as he let out harsh sobs if he was no longer truly whole. 

Wolf continued to tend to him, hands on his shoulders, running through his hair, trying to calm him, ground him. He murmured pet names, familiar, too familiar, it all rubbed him the wrong way but he tried to stop gasping so loud. He rocked back and forth in his half-fetal position, eyes shut tight, mouth pulled tight in a cry. Every time he opened his eyes, his gaze fell upon Houston. Houston, _Houston,_ who would just be staring. Staring, eyes on him, judging and beady and blue-green. It was like looking in a mirror, staring at the mask that he made so many years ago, but the eyes were _wrong,_ everything about the other man was _wrong_ and the need to correct it was suddenly greater than his need to sit and wail in distress.

Hoxton crawled across the bed of the truck, seething, knowing he looked like an absolute mess; eyes red and puffy from tears, face flushed and warped with grimace and scars, mucus leaking from his nose and saliva gathering, dripping from at the corner of his mouth because he can't get his lips out of the frozen sneer as he moved towards Houston. He reeked of stress-sweat and the filth of wearing that prison jumpsuit unwashed for god knows how long, greasy hair a mess up close and he reached out, on his hands and knees, propped up and hissing like an animal. Fingers in a claw shape as he grabbed onto Houston's shoulders, pushing, he's weak, so weak, malnourished and exhausted from his breakdown and he barely makes an impact on Houston but his intention is obvious. Wolf was shouting, grabbing at Hoxton and surprised by the recoil as he tugged too hard on the feather-light man, and they both rolled awkwardly backwards with an unceremonious thump, that prompted Chains to open the rear-window and glare at all three with an evil eye to rival even the worst scolding mother, before returning to his conversation with Dallas.

Hoxton laid back on the bed of the truck, panting hard, breathing as if he'd just run a marathon. He realized he was coming down from the rush of everything- the adrenaline of the fighting earlier, the high of the reveal of his new mask, the high of just being alive, of being with his gang again... the breakdown immediately afterwards. Like a drug trip, he realized with a certain awe, his chest rising and falling fast and visible underneath the orange jumpsuit. Wolf was next to him, recovered much faster, more meals in that man, more activity, more _life_ in Wolf and in the men around him than would ever be in himself again. He giggled, once, not hysterical or terrified or accompanied by out-of-place sobbing, as the realization dawned on him, as he stared at the blue sky through swollen eyelids and didn't even have the energy to wipe the tears away. 

When Wolf sat him up, he was facing Houston again. Houston was looking out across the landscape, as if the four others didn't exist in his mind.


End file.
